I do not own any Disney character named herein, and am writing this story for entertainment purposes only.
Kim Possible: Bad Girls
Original Story By Twisted-Wun & LJ58
Edited and Reposted (With Permission) by LJ58
She ignored the guards around her as she stepped out of the gate into the late afternoon air that was brisk and cool due to the lateness of the season.
She glanced around her, but saw nothing. No one.
Sighing heavily, she shook her head, and walked over to the rough, fading bench badly in need of a paintjob. The next bus wasn't for forty minutes. Still, a part of her had thought…..
Well, nothing like six years in prison to put your life in perspective, she thought grimly. And teach you who really cared. Or didn't.
She sighed again, and sat down, tugging the ends of the too thin windbreaker around her faded, frayed blouse that should have been replaced, oh, six years ago. Odd how her clothes still fit. Or maybe not. She had stayed fit. Stayed active. Not out of any desire to maintain her fighting trim. It was more an issue of self-preservation.
Had she relaxed even for a moment behind those walls, she never would have survived to make parole.
The thought rankled.
She still had two years of hoops according to the board that had assessed her record, judged her penitence, and then finally let her out.
Never mind she could have walked out any time she wanted. Never mind she had the skill and experience to slip out without ever even being seen. She had stayed, and jumped through all of their hoops. Did what they wanted. Now she was almost free, but no one was there to meet her.
Yeah, it definitely put her life into perspective.
Thank God for her old slacks. If she had been picked up in a skirt six years ago, she would have really been freezing just then.
She sighed, and glanced instinctively at her wrist.
No watch. No Kimmunicator.
Right. Another hoop.
She looked up at the muted rumble of a laboring engine, and saw the old city bus that was slowing to a halt near her.
She didn't even smile as she climbed to her feet, waited for the bus to open the door as the driver seemed to pointedly eye her as if ensuring for himself she was supposed to be there. The doors finally opened, and she felt a rush of warm air mixed with sweat and rust. The portly man behind the wheel eyed her, and asked, "Town?"
"Yes," she murmured, and simply handed over the pass the warden had given her.
"You look familiar. You a celeb?"
"Do I look like one," she huffed, and trudged back several seats to sit away from the driver. No need in giving him the idea she wanted to talk.
"Whatever. Just saying. You look familiar."
"Guess I just got that kind of face," she muttered bitterly.
The man gave her a mocking leer. "Bet you told the cops that when they picked you up?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't have much of a sense of humor. Not anymore.
The drive into town was long, and uncomfortable. The only passenger on the bus until they reached the outskirts of town, she kept her head down, and stayed silent even when the driver began picking up more riders.
No one talked to her.
No one did more than glance her way.
Most were just tired commuters on their way home. They had their own concerns. A tired girl in old clothes didn't even ping their radar.
She finally got off the bus near the mall. The old mall from the look of it now.
The sun was setting by then, but she could see the place was looking less than busy. A lot of storefronts were empty. Some were even boarded up. Things had changed in six years.
She climbed off the bus carrying nothing but a folded packet under one arm. Her parole papers. She had not collected anything else she wanted to keep. Not in there.
Brushing her long, red hair back from a too-weary, too-knowing stare, she glanced down the road, and assessed the walk before her. It was going to be late before she got there. Before she got home. She wasn't even sure if they would welcome her. Honestly, she wasn't even sure if she were welcome. Not anymore.
She sighed, knowing she wouldn't know anything until she got there, and started walking.
Four hours later, she stood in front of the house she remembered as home, and saw the broken windows. The graffiti. The drunken 'For Sale' sign in the yard. The garage door had been left open, and the interior was dark, but obviously empty.
Well. That settled one question.
Shaking her head, she turned and walked back up the street. She paused, seeing another familiar house.
She didn't recognize the car in the drive. The name on the mailbox still read 'Stoppable.' For a moment she considered knocking. Still, it was late, and the house was dark. It had been six years, too. That, and the last time she had seen his folks, they had cursed her.
Cursed her worse than Shego ever did on her worst day.
Yeah. They'd love to see her again.
She sighed, and kept going.
Shego was right. She had been an idiot. A chump. She had thrown her life away for a few favors, some occasional thrills, and now she had…..nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Screw it, she decided, and tossed her parole packet on top of the nearest garbage can awaiting the morning pickup.
Screw them all, she decided, and just walked away without looking back.